The Lost Children
by Before Ever-After
Summary: They were there, and then they were gone.  And then there was Albus
1. Chapter 1

The room is silent and it is not. Machines beep in a manner which is supposed to be faint, but which is all too recognisable, and all too damning a sound, and the bustling hubbub of the world outside the room seeps in. Those that really matter, however, the room's occupants, are silent The silence, and the noise of the machine on their own are ominous sounds, but now, with the pair in harmony, they are hopeful. For certainly, those in the room have a reason to be hopeful; after _months_ where there was just the silence, and after all hope had begun to fade, Albus had been found. The room barely dares to think of those that are still lost.

Unfortunately, even though they do not have to think, there are those, who couldn't bear to come today, and the general public, all too willing to think for them. Even now, one of the missing three swaddled on the bed in front of them, looking much smaller than his lanky, seventeen year old frame was, and the public having rejoiced his return, conversation has turned, all to quickly to the other two Lost Children, as they have so been dubbed, the faces of the two all too painfully absent from this gathering smiling painfully bright smiles from the front page of the prophet, the article screaming how there was absolutely _no_ clue where they were. It is the painful reminder that none of them need, and as they gaze upon the beaten and bruised frame of Albus Severus Potter, their hope is bittersweet.

The noise of the room changes, machines thrumming, louder than they've ever been for the room's occupants, before falling dreadfully, expectantly silent, a red-haired witch screaming, her husband lunging for the button with which to summon a mediwitch. Equally as unexpected, is the machines starting again, and a pair of emerald green eyes slowly becoming visible under a mop of black hair. Once again, the redhead screams, and once again her husband leaps to summon a mediwitch, as a third, younger wizard sticks his head out the door, shouting down the hall, "He's fucking awake, you twats!" It is to the private surprise of everyone in the room that he receives no reprimand for such remarks.

It takes much less time for a mediwitch to arrive then those in the room think it does, strands of hair falling from her overly tight bun, mouth pulled in at the corners, and a little too overweight as she pushes her way through the gathered family, wand already glowing with a faint, rosy light. The mediwitch works silently for a few minutes, the machines fallen to the noise they were supposed to be at, and the family hardly dares to breathe, until she steps away, and their son's emerald eyes are once again in their line of vision. "He'll be okay," the answer is given softly, the voice somewhat too kind for her appearance, and it is as the mediwitch slips quietly out of the room that his family surges around his bedside, the two men on his left, and the two women on his right, Albus in the middle, the way that it had somehow been for every single family photo that he could remember.

His mother waits only a moment, watching for any flicker of encouragement, and the hope in Albus' eyes seem to be enough for her, her shriek muted this time, compared to the screams of before, and his father, her husband this time still, save for one hand that reaches out to gently clasp his son's shoulder, even as Ginny envelopes him in a hug, her fiery red hair brushing over his shoulders, and his withdrawal from its colour hidden as her lips find his way to his ear. "Oh Al," his mother's voice is heavy with tears that she is struggling not to shed, and he can feel her hands shaking as she tightens her grip on him, "my baby." She cannot continue, and those all too familiar fiery strands of hair are lowered closer to his face, Albus shuddering with his mother as she cries. Only, he is crying for those that he left behind.

His mother stops crying though, and quicker than Albus would have liked. It means that her his family's sanity just as much as his own, he needs to stop his crying too and with a last few shaky breaths, his mother having now pulled away, her hand trailing over the contours of his face, the boy finds his courage, so that it looks like he too was crying for their reunion. It is his turn now, he knows as well, to break the silence that has fallen over the room, tongue darting out over pale, cracked lips, and breath hitching in his throat as he opens his mouth, the words in his mind, and formed by his lips, but never escaping into the air.

This time, Albus is unable to stop the tears.


	2. Chapter 2

Even though they declare him to be in sound physical health, the Healers do not let Albus go home. Not even when his father complains, something which normally means that the world drops everything to run to his side. Instead, they move Albus to a different ward, and although he is still in his own room, no one is happy about it. Albus is slightly confused, as his mother begins to cry, and his father's face turns red with anger. It isn't until later, when his family has left, that he catches sight of where he has been moved to. The Healers don't expect him to leave.

Once again, Albus begins to cry himself.

It's not that the ward is a particularly horrible place to be; his first day there, Albus learns that apart from therapy, the mediwitches are more than happy to leave him alone. He reasons that they're probably too afraid of his father to let themselves close. The therapy is vaguely unpleasant, but only because no matter how Albus struggles to form the words, they just won't come. His therapist understands that, even though he pushes him. What Albus hates the most about St Mungos is that it is not home.

His family comes to visit him, but it is always awkward, and Albus suspects that he is not the only one who breathes a sigh of relief about departure. In fact, after the first few stilted conversations, it seems to only be his mother who has any joy in the slightest about what their days have become. She wheedles with the nurses, and flashes her surname about so that the majority of her day can be spent by her son's side, and even Albus is sick of it. People, by large, have become foreign concepts to him, and his mother's presence, which he'd so long yearned for was now overwhelming. His opinions stay unvoiced though, because not only is Albus unable to communicate with the outside world, but he is also set on not hurting his family any more than his disappearance first did.

His mother, in short, is the least understanding of all his family, of his reluctance to be near them. Albus is quite sure that his father is drawn back to his own days in the war whenever he sees Albus now, and his siblings aren't quite sure how to handle him, but his mother is surprisingly resilient . She cannot know though, for save the one battle at Hogwarts which the History books love to recreate, his mother has never seen horror. Not like he now has. Or perhaps it is because of that one battle, and the horrors she saw while in it that his mother behaves the way she does. Either way, she does not understand his wishes, or she ignores them, and Albus has taken to pretending to be asleep every time she visits.

Tonight is one such time, it being well past visiting hours, and Albus truthfully attempting sleep when the door opens. It is through slitted eyes he spots the trademark hair of a Weasley. For a moment, his heart jumps, just as it does every time his mother uses her status to visit him when no lesser person would be allowed. In the dark, he finds that he equates his mother's fiery red hair with Rose. It is only the softness of the pillow behind his head, and the fullness in his belly always remind him of where he is though, and before his mother can bring the room into light and expose his lies, Albus' eyes are closed, the boy attempting to smooth his face of any worry. Somehow, his deceit always works, and Albus is sure his mother no longer searches too closely for the lies she used to spot in a moment, too scared of the truth which she may find. It is a truth that clogs Albus' throat, even though he cannot find the words to explain it. No matter what, he is glad for his mother's ignorance in this case, because it means that not only is she safe, but that she will also leave soon.

First though, as is ritual for her, his mother crosses to his bed, and Albus keeps himself as still as she rests on hand on his shoulder, for balance he presumes, leaning to brush her lips against his forehead. He supposes that he should find some comfort in the gesture, some feeling of safety, but all he feels is the need to get away. His mother has not been a protector to him in a long time, not since he'd first woken up, beaten and bloody and bruised, the promise of more at the discretion of those whom had taken him. It seems to be important for his mother though, and even if it is physically painful, he forces himself to let her do it. After all, if he cannot bring himself to talk to her, then this is the least that he can do to make her happy.

He has to fight against his urge to sigh in relief as he draws herself away, her hand lingering for a moment and brushing over the contours of his face. "Oh Al," he can hear how his mother's voice is clogged with tears, and he finds himself feeling bad until she continues, "Sometimes I think they're the lucky ones." He know who she is talking about, and he knows just how wrong she is, even though he cannot tell her. Above that though, he is hurt, and unable to voice this opinion in any manner, Albus instead decides to forgo any pretence of sleep, green eyes flickering open, the gasp his mother makes audible, tears springing to her eyes, and the hand that moments ago had been on his face moving to cover her mouth. "Oh, Al," somehow, her voice is thicker than before, and it is only his familiarity with how she intonates her words that he can understand her at all, "I'm so sorry baby, so, so sorry."

As always, he says nothing, because he is unable to, his green eyes fixated, wide, unblinking, and accusatory on her figure, tears spilling rapidly down her cheeks as his mother realises all the lines that she has crossed, and everything she has done that cannot be undone. Betrayal is almost palpable in the air, its eminence in Albus' silence almost more powerful than if he could have screamed it. It is as he stares at her, and as he silently accuses her that she finally does what he's wanted her to do since she'd entered the room, and leaves. It is then that he can feel relieved again, can feel the tendrils of sleep beginning to work their way through his head. Tonight though, the relief is marred by guilt, and Albus curls himself onto his side. His hands wrap around his head, and his breathing becomes shallow, Albus attempting to work through what has just happened, and the guilt that he never let go of while he was captured. He can see Rose again now, and Scorpius, twisted together the way they had often been while they were captive, emaciated and crying for home. He is as terrified is he is happy to see them, even if they aren't really there, and it is with their image that he finally finds himself asleep.

**This story in its en****tirety has begun to take massive amounts of shape in my mind. I know exactly where I want to go with it and all that, so updates should be coming fast!**

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><strong>That being said, what does everyone think?<strong>


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